


Put It On Repeat

by lilypea



Series: Ficmas 2014 [14]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Baking, Christmas, F/M, god save my soul, smutty af
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-15
Updated: 2014-12-15
Packaged: 2018-03-01 13:09:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2774165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilypea/pseuds/lilypea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Skye and Ward once again embark on a somewhat (very) inappropriate holiday baking mission.</p>
<p>Sequel to my work 'Seasonal Mixing'. Set in the Picture Frames series.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Put It On Repeat

Skye was in the kitchen, making an assortment of banging noises as she rifled through cabinets and pulled out basically every baking utensil she could find, placing them on the counter top next to Ward’s stack of cookbooks. 

Given the unorthodox success of their last holiday baking escapade, they’d since decided to make baking their ‘holiday thing’, and Christmas was, of course, no exception. Being Skye’s favourite holiday (aside from Valentine’s Day, now that she was married), she’d cajoled her husband into attempting every festive recipe she liked the look of, and today was the day they were putting that plan into action. Which explained why she was dressed, ready, and making a whole lot of noise at the bright and early hour of eight in the morning on a Sunday.

Ward rounded the corner wearing a pair of black jeans and no shirt, drying off his hair after his shower. Hanging the towel off the back of a chair, he snaked his arms round Skye’s waist.

“You ready?” he asked her, chin resting on her shoulder.

“Yep. Are you?” she retorted, turning to face him and pointedly eyeing his bare chest.

He shrugged. “It was just gonna come off later, anyway. May as well save us the trouble.”

“If you’re sure,” she told him, ducking out of his arms to reach the oven tray. “I’m not complaining.”

“Didn’t think you would,” he said, lightly slapping her arse. 

“Hey!” Skye swatted his arm away. “Save some for later,” she added with a wink.

Leaning on the bench to get himself under control, Ward began leafing through the cookbooks he’d left out, the recipes they’d agreed to try carefully marked with some of Skye’s purple sticky tabs.

“Okay, what do you want to make first?” he asked, pulling his wife to him.

She hummed to herself as she considered her selection, eventually leaving the book open at a recipe for gingerbread men. “These ones,” she stated proudly, pointing at the glossy age, excitement starting to get to her.

“Alright then.” He pecked her on the cheek as he moved to the pantry, pulling out flour, brown sugar and golden syrup, instructing her to switch on the oven.

Ward measured the ingredients into the mixing bowl as Skye watched eagerly, her baking skills having not improved that much since last time she tried, and failed.   
“Oh my God, that smells good already,” she sighed, head resting on his arm.

Ward laughed, handing her a large spoon, telling her to be careful as he watched her work. After a couple of minutes, she insisted she couldn’t go on mixing as her arms felt like they’d turned to jelly, leaving him to take up the bowl and make quick work of it, aware of Skye watching him the whole time. Eventually, they ended up with a sticky mass of brown.

He held the bowl out to her, encouraging her to start kneading the dough into shape.

“No, you keep going,” she insisted, eyes wide, sounding slightly breathless.

“Is this turning you on, Mrs Ward?” he prompted, eyebrow raised.

“Oh yeah.”

He held in his chuckle as he approached the counter, emptying out the mixture and getting to work, Skye perched next to him.

The dough was soon smooth and Ward covered it with cling wrap, placing it in the fridge to set and twisting the kitchen timer, the gentle ticking filling the room.

“How long?” Skye asked, simply.

“Half an hour.”

That’s all she needed to hear before she launched herself at him, locking her mouth over his and pressing her body up against him.

He made a surprised grunt and wrapped his arms around her waist, holding her there. “Wow, you weren’t kidding,” he murmured against her lips.

“Nope. Couch. Now,” she commanded, twisting her fingers in his hair.

Ward lifted her, Skye wrapping her legs around him, and walked them out of the kitchen, laying her gently down with her head on the cushion before climbing to hover over her. He ran his hands over her hips under her shirt as she gripped his back.

“God, never wear a shirt again,” she said as they parted, Ward pulling her own top over her head and reaching back to undo the clasp of her bra. He tossed both to the floor and gazed down at her breasts, as she lay there, confident as always.

“I could say the same for you,” he practically moaned, shuffling down to kiss and suck on her nipples, bringing soft whines from his wife below him, his favourite sound.  
She groaned his name as he pulled him back up to undo his jeans. “Grant, I need you inside me right now.”

Wanting nothing more than to please her, he pulled down his jeans and boxers in one swift motion, pausing to remove them from his legs, which was a difficult job with Skye’s hands gliding over every inch of his body she could get to. As soon as all his clothes lay on the floor, he hooked his fingers under the waistband of Skye’s leggings and panties and tugging, leaving her as naked as he was.

He crawled back up her body, appreciating all of her as he went, and kissed her deeply, positioning his length at her entrance. Sliding into her, he swallowed her cry, and began gently thrusting, rhythmically, out and in.

Skye clung to him for dear life, urging him to go faster and push her over the edge. He pressed his thumb against her clit, and sure enough she screamed aloud, her head falling back, clenching around him and taking him with her.

Ward shifted so as not to squish her, and they lay, breath mingling, listening to the comfortable tick of the timer from the kitchen in the next room.

“God I love baking,” she mumbled into his neck, getting a laugh in return.

“So do I. Shall we go and check on our gingerbread before round two?”

“Hell yes.”


End file.
